


A Very Kirkmall Christmas

by bettydice (BettyKnight), codenamecynic



Series: Kirkmall AU [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: 'Tis The Season, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Kirkmall AU, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyKnight/pseuds/bettydice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very festive collection of drabbles we did on tumblr. Including bee-adorned knitwear, eggnogg and so many feelings that you'll have to disappear for a moment to clench a manly fist of emotions. </p>
<p>Happy Holidays from the Kirkmall! <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bobby vs. The Humbugglers

“IT’S SNOWING!”

Cullen jumped, the pan he was washing slipping out of his fingers and clanging loudly in the bottom of the sink.  “Dear god.”

Fenris didn’t even look up from his book.  Patsy however, who was lying on her back on the floor with her feet up on Fenris’ lap, probably still too full from dinner to do more than play Candy Crush on her phone, predictably groaned.

“Oh come on.  It’s Christmas!”

“It’s not really.”

“It’s _almost_ Christmas then, whatever.  Same thing!”

“It’s not really.”

“Fenris _come on_. It’s snowing!”  She spun around on the toe of her pink and red candy-cane festooned socks, arms flung out in a half-pirouette, half-desperate appeal to their apparent lack of holiday spirit.  “Don’t you want to see?”

Fenris and Patsy exchanged a glance and answered, in unison, “Not really.”

Bobby sighed deeply, upsetting the tiny jingle bells scattered all over her favorite ugly Christmas sweater. “You guys are the worst.”

Fine, she would just hoist this flag herself and carry it deep into the hellish landscape of other people’s holiday malaise.  

At least her apartment was cozy and cheerful, lights strung around the windows and strings of little ornaments across the tops of doorways because her flat was too small for a proper tree.  It was officially Christmas in Bob-landia and had been for about two months as she’d painstakingly dug out faded photos of old family holidays, threadbare Santa hats and the foam Rudolph nose that Patsy hated because it reminded her of clowns.

If they were going to be crusty anti-Christmas bah-humbuggers, then she’d just enjoy it all for them.  They still had three weeks to come around.  It could still happen.  Maybe.

The doorknob was cold in her hand when she stepped out onto her little balcony, the air frosty enough that she could see her breath before the slight breeze bore it away.  Little ice crystals sparkled on the clothesline she’d shoved off to one side, tiny white snowflakes unfurling like anemones across the black wrought iron banister as their fellows fell on the city, quiet in the evening.

The view wasn’t much, just the street and a halfheartedly organized row of trees and another set of apartment buildings, but the sky was warm with city lights reflected off the clouds and the snow was white and clean and sparkled as it fell, in contrast to the dark shadowy silhouette of the buildings.  It would start to stick soon and then it would be a muddy gray mess, but until then it was beautiful.

It was also freezing ass cold, her flimsy slippers not at all keeping the chill out of her toes though at least they kept her socks dry.  The things she did for a little bit of holiday cheer; she hugged herself, sticking her cold hands under her arms for warmth, and tried to blow impossible smoke rings in the cold air streaming off her lips.

Eventually the door opened behind her, Cullen making a little huffing sound in the chilly air as though he hadn’t expected it.  

Bobby turned to grin at him over one shoulder.  “Ha, I knew I’d get at least one of you.  Sucker.”

He had the sweetest smile, all slow and boyish, and sheepish enough to be effortlessly endearing.  He stepped in behind her and set his hands on her shoulders, rubbing up and down to bring friction and its accompanying warmth to her upper arms.  “It’s cold out here.  You’re going to freeze.”

“Not with you here to keep me warm.”

It was cheesy, so incredibly, horrifyingly cheesy, but if she’d learned anything at all about him it was that, in heart of his nerdy soul, Cullen _loved_ cheesy.  It wasn’t even buried that deeply, lurking just below the surface like a dorky winking thresher maw waiting to drag you down into the underground catacombs where all the rejected lines from romantic comedies went to die.

He was chuckling as she turned around, beaming up at him and the little white flakes that lingered on the blond curls of his hair before melting away.  His hands smoothed across her back, warm and strong, before closing around her waist, lifting her up with a little bounce and resettling her with her slippered feet standing atop his sturdier shoes.  It did little to bridge the height difference between them, but he leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, the heat of their breath mingling into the same mist between them.

It was a sweet moment, one he ruined by spinning them around, his feet under hers moving a pattern completely unrecognizable as any kind of proper dance.

“If you waltz us off this balcony, I will be so mad.”

“Please, I’m not _that_ bad of a dancer.”

Not bad at all honestly, but she still curled both her hands into the coat he’d had the good sense to put on, peering suspiciously over the frosty edge.  “If I’m going, you’re going.”

“Always, I hope.”

He said the words so softly she almost missed them, flicking her eyes up to search his face.  His smile was warm enough to chase the chill away, curling around her like steam in a bath.  There was still just enough hesitancy around the edges of his expression to pull at her heart, sheer hopeful sincerity that set all the butterflies in her stomach to fluttering on their little snow angel wings.

His feet slowed to a stop under hers as she lifted her hands to wind into the scarf around his neck, pulling him down for a long, gentle kiss – and ignoring the affectionately annoyed sound of Fenris snorting as he and Patsy opened the balcony door.

“Get a room.”


	2. Fenris vs. A Change in Temperature

Well, fuck.

Fenris stared at the grey clouds above him, wondering how and why he’d ended up like this. Splayed out on his back in front of Patsy’s building. His butt hurt, his hand hurt and everything was cold and now slowly starting to turn wet as well.

Could he move anything? Fuck. Fuck, ow, fuck. Fucking ow.

He groaned and used all the strength in his abs to get into a sitting position without putting weight on his hands. They were probably both broken. As was his ass. Though at least the cold dampness seeping through his jeans from the ice underneath somewhat numbed everything. Getting up to his feet and going up the few stairs so he could press on the doorbell seemed like a very daunting quest nonetheless. Yet he had to try.

He managed to pull/crawl himself towards the steps that were at least somewhat drier and less icy (though not even trace amounts of salt could be seen) but the pain in his everything prevented him from raising himself enough to reach her doorbell. He took off his knitted gloves (A gift from Merrill; they were black and yellow because of her bees, presumably. “Hupflepupf colours” according to Patsy, whatever that meant.) and fished his phone out of his winter hoodie (it had fleece on the inside) and called Patsy.

“Hi babe! When are you coming over?”  
  
“Can you come down and open the door.”  
  
“Why, I can just buzz you in.”  
  
“I sort of uh… may need assistance climbing the stairs.” Fenris furrowed his brows and stared venomously at the frozen puddle. “I fell.”

Patsy hung up without saying another word and Fenris leaned against the wall, immediately regretting his decision because his shoulder hurt. UGH. All he’d wanted was a cozy evening on Patsy’s couch, maybe with both of them naked, but not necessarily so and now he was sure that every single bone in his body was broken. Twice.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

Patsy sounded out of breath, even though her flat was only on the first floor. She rushed down the doorsteps as well and then immediately jumped them up again

“OW! FUCK! COLD! OW!” She was _barefoot_. Fenris felt a little rush of warmth despite his all around frozen state, and the pain of his shattered bones got slightly more bearable.

“Give me your gloves:”

“What.”

She just took them out of his hand and then… put them on her feet. Somehow. Because of course. Fenris wasn’t even surprised anymore. After being with her for so many months now, he simply marvelled at her resourcefulness. Her feet looked like wooly bees (or rather a cross between a bee and an octopus) and it was strangely adorable. Or maybe he just hit his head.

Feet more or less protected from the cold, Patsy crouched down in front of him and ran her hands over his head and shoulders as if to check for injuries.

“I’m fine.” Biggest understatement of the century. “My leg just hurts a little.”

With a lot of groaning and bitten back curses, they managed to get him to his feet and with his arm around Patsy’s shoulder they slowly made their way up the stairs. Now that he was walking, or limping, Patsy a source of welcome warmth at his side, he felt a little less like there were five thousand splintered fractures throughout his body. Though there were definitely bruises. Lots of them. Fucking cold. Fucking winter. Fucking…

They’d finally reached Patsy’s flat and she carefully maneuvered them through empty Amazon boxes, discarded clothing, nerd paraphernalia, cushions and whatever else decorated her floor. Somewhere along the way, Patsy had stopped shoving everything in a corner under a blanket before he came and he always got to see her flat in its natural state. Formerly known as “didn’t really have time to clean before you came”.

They made their way safely through to her bedroom and he sat down on the bed, letting out a sigh of relief. And then a pained grunt.

“Alright, let’s get you out of your wet clothes and under the blanket. Or do we have to go to the hospital? You should have said that before we walked up the stairs though. Do you want to take a shower? Uhm, band aids? Tea?”

Patsy nervously hovered before him, wringing her hands and her face so full of worry that he felt another three or four bruises magically heal themselves.

“Blanket sounds fine. I probably just need to lie down a bit.”

She began undressing him; a very familiar process, though her movements a lot slower than usual, careful not to hurt him. His hoodie, shirt, shoes, socks, jeans, underpants - everything had managed to get wet somehow and he’d never been more happy to huddle underneath Patsy’s blanket. Her bedroom was quite a bit warmer than his flat. Probably because she wasn’t as conscious about her heating bill. And because she was Patsy, _everything_ about her was… so much warmer than him. Which was probably why she was taking off her clothes as well.

This time, she divested herself of her clothes with her usual speed, only slowing down once she reached her feet, taking off his gloves and placing them on her nightstand. Once she was naked as well, she grinned and then joined him under the covers, pressing as much of her skin against his as she could manage. Mhm, this was so warm and nice. _Very nice_ , but…

“Uhm, I’m not sure I can… maybe if you get on top?”

Patsy giggled into his shoulder and only pressed herself closer, if that was even possible.

“Don’t you know that naked cuddling is the thing to do when one is cold? They had an episode like that on _Swords &Shields_ last week! Lady Cecily simply _had_ to strip Geoffrey, her guardsman and then join him in bed, or he would have definitely died.”

“That show is plain ridiculous. And they all should be dead anyway, crushed by the weight of the historical inaccuracies.”

“They almost fucked but at the last moment Lady Cecily’s handmaiden appeared and yelled that Cecily and Geoffrey are secretly related.”

“Of course.”

“He’s her half-brother and now they have to fight over who will inherit the castle once their father dies.”

“What a terrible fate.”

Patsy kept telling him all about _Swords &Shields_’ latest implausible plot twists and Fenris found himself nodding off, lulled to sleep by her soothing voice and the warmth emanating from her. Somehow, he barely felt any pain anymore and he caught himself thinking “We should do this more often.” _Yeah, definitely hit my head._


	3. Fenris vs. The Angry Bee

If he had to make one more peppermint mocha, Fenris was going to scream.

Peppermint mochas were only one step up on his shit list from pumpkin-spice lattes, which he also hated because he really couldn’t be asked to deal with the sheer number of cackling young women who invaded The Brewmother every fall season, demanding an endless supply of coffee and baked goods that were supposed to, but didn’t really, taste like pumpkin.  

But those peppermint mochas, they were the bane of his existence.  Here in retail hell Christmas started apparently sometime in July and didn’t end until well after the New Year, so it was nothing but a cruel inundation of fake snow, pointless ornaments that shed glitter all over everything, and shitty Christmas music over the mall radio system that was inescapable, even for some reason in the freezer.

Christmas.  Why.  A dirty capitalist holiday if there ever was one, and the only reason he didn’t go so far as to actually say Bah Humbug was because Scrooge was a money-grubbing miser who represented all of the things Fenris opposed with his entire socialist being, redemption story be damned.

The door opened, setting off the booby-trap of sleigh bells strung across the top.  They didn’t tinkle so much as clang against the glass and get stuck in the door hinge on occasion.  He was of half a mind to rip them down and then eat them so no one could ever put them back up again, but that seemed sort of extreme when he could just take them down and say, throw them in the dumpster.  Ironically that second solution seemed like more trouble than it was worth, and anyway, Merrill seemed to like them.

It was Merrill herself who came through the door, appearing like a cheerful winter fairy, swaddled in a coat a size too big and a long dress covered in black flowers.  Her nose was red from the cold, but she was smiling so hard her eyes practically disappeared, turning upward into little almond shapes by a very well-meaning sense of sweetness that regularly ruined his life.

“Merry Christmas!” she practically sang, dumping the bags she was carrying on one of the tables.

“It’s your day off,” he groused, probably a little more roughly than he should have, given the – well, everything.

“I know!” she chirped, completely unbothered by him.  As usual.

Fenris sighed.  “What are you doing at the mall then?  Don’t you have bees to buy presents for or… something?”

Merrill smiled at him patiently, the equivalent of a pat on the head.  “Aren’t you silly, you know bees can’t unwrap presents.  No opposable thumbs!”

Ugh, this tiny, ridiculous woman.

Completely unphased by his general grumpiness and inability to carry on polite discussions with other humans, Merrill frolicked over to the counter where he was standing, trying to camouflage himself behind a stack of medium sized red cups with very annoying snowflakes embossed into the sides.   _Holidays._

“I got you a present!”

“What?”

“Well, made you a present, technically.  Open it up!”

He didn’t move, staring down at the lumpily shaped and somewhat oddly wrapped parcel she’d thrust onto the counter before him.  It was red, also with tiny white snowflakes printed on the paper.   _Maker._

But she’d made him something? A gift?  That was so…

Nice.

“Well?” She prompted expectantly, wide smile never leaving her mouth.

Gingerly he turned the package over to find the seam, carefully sliding his fingers into the gap where the paper overlapped to pop up the little strips of tape, unfolding it to reveal-

A sweater.

She’d knitted him a sweater.

Of course it was a ridiculous looking sweater, something he would _never_ wear, black and with what he realized after a moment of hard staring was a cartoon bee with little bee teeth bared in an angry looking growl worked into the front.

Completely ridiculous of course, but… well the yarn was rather soft, wasn’t it?  It looked like it would be warm, and probably just his size, and-

Unexpectedly he was at a loss for words, something that could be bile but in actuality was very likely to be emotions rising up to close his throat.  She’d made him a sweater.  With an angry bee.  An angry bee sweater.

“Do you like it?” she asked hopefully, tiny fists of heart-ruining destruction clasped beneath her chin.

“It’s very nice,” he managed after a moment.

She squealed happily and he clenched a manly fist of emotion behind the counter while she wasn’t looking, and reached again to feel the soft wool of his very first handmade sweater.

“You know I didn’t get you anything.”


	4. Blobby and Pastey vs. The Kirk-Mart

“Just a quick stop in,” Bobby said.

“Absolutely,” Patsy agreed.

“I have a list.”

“I’m not getting anything.”

“And under no circumstances will we end up in the holiday aisle.”

“We can totally do this.”

Two hours later, they were standing before a massive display of festively foiled chocolate and holiday ornaments, lugging a basket between them.

“Do you think these are any good?” asked Bobby, hefting a giant bag of Christmas tree-shaped peanut butter cups.

“Duh, of course they’re good.  Chocolate is always better when it’s shaped like not-chocolate.”

“You make a good point.” Into the basket it went.

“Do you need gift bags?”

“Clearly.  I am _not_ reliving our Christmas past.”

“But you’re super good at wrapping things!”

“Of course you’d say that, you make me wrap your presents every year.”  Including the ones for her, and for some reason Patsy thought she wouldn’t notice.  She always noticed.

Her sister sniffed, face buried in an evergreen scented candle.  “In my defense, I wasn’t expecting both Cullen _and_ Fenris to talk you into wrapping theirs too.”

Bobby rolled her eyes. “Least surprising Christmas of my life.” And of course she’d forgotten to put labels on anything until after she was done, so it had been sort of mysterious, but not necessarily in the best way.  “Beats Fenris just throwing things awkwardly in our laps still in the bags they came in from the store.”

Patsy giggled.  “He’s so cute.”

Bobby just shook her head. “It’s almost eight o’clock, we need to get something for dinner.”

“There’s always pizz-”

“Patsy if you eat another pizza this week you are going to turn into one.  Literally.  You should just learn how to cook.”

“I can cook!”  Patsy pouted.  “…pizza.  And bagels.”

Bobby’s disgusted sigh was one for the ages.  “Why don’t we just pick something up while we’re here.”

“This looks good.”

She turned to look at the box in her twin’s hand, incredulous eyebrow rising.  “Are you seriously proposing that we eat a gift box from Hickory Farms for dinner?”  She paused. “Again?”

“It wasn’t so bad last time.”

“You ate an entire summer sausage.”

“Well you ate all the cheese!  Ugh, but mustard.”

“Right?  Who takes up valuable cheese and crackers space with mustard.”

Patsy dug through the shelves to find a different set, scarcely glancing at the contents other than to assure herself that there was, indeed, no ancillary mustard.  “Well I’m good.”

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“I am so disappointed in you.”

“Says the girl with eight bags of chocolate in her shopping cart.”

“Hey.  Those are necessary provisions.”

“For what, an army of chocolate-swilling vampires hell bent on world domination?”

Bobby clutched a package of red and green M&Ms to her chest.  “Don’t you judge me.”

“Whatever Blobby, get your shit and let’s go.”

Patsy, as usual, walked off with her hands in her pockets, leaving her twin to lug around their basket. Bobby rolled her eyes.  Typical Pastey.

On second thought – that summer sausage did look sort of good.  It was that, or microwave macaroni and cheese, and all things considered…

She threw another box in the basket and tried to lift it, having to settle for awkwardly dragging it on the floor behind her.  

“Dammit, wait for me!”


	5. Fenris vs. The Unexpected Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They love each other.

“Okay, but before you open it-”

Fenris paused, fingers dug halfway into the curled ribbon coiled around the innocuous white box. Maker, this noodle. What was it _this_ time?

Cullen had gone alarmingly pink, enough that even Bobby had an eyebrow raised, craning her neck to look up at him from where she was sitting in his lap, playing with a Mad Max War Rig slinky.

He coughed. “Just know it’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s supposed to be Secret Santa, babe,” Bobby gently reminded, stretching the main body of the War Rig out so she could crash it back together.  The box had said ages 6 and up, so Fenris was relatively certain she could be trusted to play with it unsupervised.

Maybe.  Patsy had gotten one also when they’d seen it on the shelves at Nevarra Dull Moment, and that thing had been catapulted down all four flights of stairs in his building.  Twice.

“Not that we all don’t know,” Patsy pointed out, not even bothering to look up from the comic she was reading, a gift from Bobby.  It seemed sort of unfair for one of the twins to have gotten the other, but there were only four of them, and at least that partially waylaid his deep existential panic about what he ought to try and get his g-

girl-

girlfr-

acquaintance of mutually agreed upon attraction.

“Just open it already,” Imperator Bobby ordered, zooming the rig along one of Cullen’s forearms as though the wheels actually moved, crashing it into the speed bump of his watch and letting it fall end over end into the floor.

Fenris narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Cullen, sightlessly pulling at the ribbons and then the tape and shaking the box probably more aggressively than was strictly required until the lid popped off in his hand and the lower portion fell into his lap.

_What._

He stopped.  

_No way._

“What is it?” Bobby asked.

“It’s a book,” Patsy said needlessly, picking it up off his lap casually and turning it over to read the front page.  “ _Atlas Alamar: Maps from the time of Calenhad the Great._  Neat?”

She threw it back at him and he almost choked up his spleen, catching the book in both hands and gingerly holding it by its edges as though it might disintegrate into dust if touched too roughly.  No mean feat, given that the tome must have weighed five pounds at least.

He’d been wanting this book forever, had been dreaming about it, but now to _touch_ it, to _hold_ it, to _feel_ it in his arms-  Fenris was a self-confessed bibliophile, but this was some next level shit.

The maps were all in color, the forward by Petrine, a chapter on the early Exalted Age of cartography by Herren, _illustrations-_

Fenris glared accusingly at Cullen, who was doing that stupid thing he did where he rubbed the back of his neck like his head was about to fall off.  “This is an expensive book.”

“Well-”

Fenris’ eyebrow rose.

“You said the library wouldn’t order in a copy.”

The eyebrow rose a little more.

“I thought it might help you with your novel?”

He managed to eke just the tiniest bit of additional altitude out of his brow, holding it until he thought his face was going to split in half.

“I have a friend who works for Minrathous University Press,” Cullen said in all a rush, face as red as his ugly Christmas sweater.  “I didn’t pay full price for it.”

The eyebrow descended. “Good.”

The noodle – _Cullen_ – sighed, relief palpable.  “So… you like it?”

“Very much,” Fenris said stiffly, carefully replacing the tissue paper and the lid of the box.

“Oh.  Well good then.  Ah – who wants some apple cider?”

*

“What just happened?” Bobby whispered, leaning over to her sister when Cullen got up and fled manfully to the kitchen under the guise of retrieving hot beverages.

“I think they bonded,” Patsy whispered back, craning her neck after Fenris who had retreated to the bathroom, possibly to cry and/or adjust his pants.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“You know what they say,” Patsy sing-songed.  “First comes love, then comes marriage-”

“Then they open a used bookshop together in Orlais, start wearing hipster glasses and berets, and we’re stuck drinking wine all day and running the register.”  

Patsy looked considering.  “Not a bad life.”

Bobby giggled. “I ship it.”


	6. Bobby vs. The Sweater from Mum

There was, presently, an elf standing in his kitchen.

A very adorable, very sexy elf.

Bobby hadn’t changed out of her Christmas costume from work, and he was finding it just a little bit hard not to sit there dribbling on his shirt with his jaw somewhere circa the floor, watching her bend over to rummage around in his fridge for something to put together for dinner.  That skirt was so short it ought to be a crime, red and green striped tights be damned.

A very adorable, very sexy crime.  One he wanted to be arrested for immediately.

“Are you looking at my ass?”

He very smoothly, very casually took a sip of his coffee.  "Nope.“

Bobby glanced over her shoulder, saw him looking, and laughed.  "You’re even worse at lying than Patsy.”

“Guilty.  Take me to jail.”

“You wish.”

Both his eyebrows lifted, putting down his mug as she shimmied over to where he was perched at the counter, all the bells on her ridiculous outfit jingling.  He hooked his fingers into the wide red belt at her hips, reeling her in closer until she was standing between his knees, close enough that he could see the sparkle of all the glitter that had made it onto her cheeks over the course of the day.

“Do you want me, or do you want dinner?”

He kissed the tip of her nose.  "Do I have to pick one?“

Bobby laughed, wrinkling her nose and pulling away when his doorbell rang.  "Pick the one you want first, at least.”  

He could hear her jingling all the way down the hall and all the way back a moment later, the odd little skip-steps of her stocking feet slip-sliding on his hardwood floor.  He didn’t know where her shoes had gone, the green ones with the curled back toes, but he knew they’d been pilfered from the Peter Pan costume in the back of her closet.

Let it be known hereto forward for the record that Cullen S. Rutherford was smitten with a girl who cosplayed fictional characters from children’s movies and looked _entirely_ too-

_Ahem. Pull it together, Rutherford_.

“You got a package from your mum.”

One eyebrow went up when he opened the box, the other joining it when he read the note scrawled in his mother’s hand.  “Actually, ah- it’s for you.”

Bobby dropped the box of pasta she was holding. Fortunately it was still sealed and didn’t explode all over the floor.  “What.”

He held out the package, giving it an enticing little shake when she didn’t move.

“Is it a bomb?”

“What?  Of course it’s not a bomb.  I don’t think it’s a bomb?”

“It’s probably not a bomb.” she admitted, but didn’t come any closer.  "Sorry, that was _my_ mum I was thinking of.“

He shook his head.  “I know what it is.  Do you want me to spoil the surprise?”

“Yes.”

“She made you a sweater.”

“She- what?”

“She made you a sweater,” he repeated, but she’d practically teleported across the kitchen and had snatched the box out of his hand, ruffling through the tissue paper and lifting out a heavy woolen sweater knit in a deep maroon shade that flattered the color of her hair.

He scarcely had time to admire it when he realized Bobby was eyeballing him suspiciously.

“Did your mum make us matching sweaters?”

“Ah- I guess so.”

Her eyes narrowed.   _“Why?”_

At that he had to laugh, reaching out to bring her close again. “I guess she likes you.”

“She’s never met me!”

Ah, right, a slight sticking point, that.  “Then she likes what I’ve told her, and if she ever gets to meet you, she will love you.  They all will.”

Her eyes searched his face like she wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him, and it pulled at something deep in his chest.  Cullen kissed her forehead.  “Put it on.”

She did, struggling a little to get it unstuck from the tinsel trim around her collar, smoothing it down around her hips.  “It fits.”

“It looks nice.”

“How does she know my size?”

“She’s seen some of our pictures.”  The suspicious look was back.  “Just a few.”  Definitely nowhere near a hundred pictures.  Mid-eighties at the most.  Mid-eighties was reasonable, a hundred was just overkill.

“Which ones?”

“The ones from our weekend trip to-”

Bobby slapped his arm, eyes wide.  “Cullen!”

“Not _those_ pictures, come on.  Those are-” he coughed, felt himself blush.  “Somewhere safer than my phone.”

“Maker,” she cursed quietly, shaking her head.  

He frowned and caught her chin in his hand, tipping her head up until she finally met his gaze.  “Does it really bother you?”

“No,” she admitted, a sheepish smile curling one corner of her mouth.  “It’s actually really nice.”

He smiled. “See.  I told you she likes you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  She turned around so he could hug her close, hooking his chin over her shoulder.  Her hands were still on the fabric of the sweater, petting the sleeve where it was just the slightest bit too long.  “I will concede that maybe meeting her would maybe not be 100% likely to end in disaster.”

“Well, you know what they say.  Real love is matching sweaters.”

She paused.  “Isn’t that a line from an emo song?”

He squeezed her tight, making all the bells on her skirt jingle.  “Just go with it.”


	7. Fenris vs. High Constable Christmas Tree

“Patsy, you already used those wooden hearts twice in that zone of the tree, please switch it up a bit…”

Patsy slowly turned around to face him, movement and speed eerily reminiscent of a zombie and for a moment he tried to frantically think of places where he could barricade himself with a shotgun clutched to his chest. And where he could get a shotgun.

“Trees don’t have _zones_ , Fenris.” She was smiling but she pressed her words through her clenched teeth and her eye was twitching a little. Why was she so angry? _He_ wasn’t the one who’d volunteered them for Tree Decorating Duty while Bobby and Cullen busied themselves with cooking a 5 course meal for 10 people. He was quite sure that there wasn’t anyone else joining them though.

“They should have, though! Just remember our system! Every zone gets four bows, we need an eyecatcher in the middle and then spread the rest of the ornaments evenly out. Maybe we should sort them first so there’s not too much repetition?”

“You could make different ornament categories and then count every kind and divide them by the number of zones.” Cullen piped in from the kitchen area, for once making a reasonable suggestion.

Patsy looked at him as though she was about shiv him with a metal star and then eat his brain. Retreat, retreat!

“I just… This should be done right, shouldn’t it? I mean, I’ve never had a christmas tree but I assume it holds quite a high rank in the order of christmassy precedence.”

Zombie Patsy seemed to have lost her craving for his brain and there was even a hint of a smile on her face. Attack averted. He was more relieved than he thought he’d be; ruining her Christmas with his general cluelessness when it came to things one did because ‘twas the season, was the very last thing he wanted to do.

“A little bit of messiness will only lend character to the tree! Don’t worry about anything being like symmetric and shit.”

That was probably her attitude when it came to her flat as well, though he didn’t say that out loud. Patsy suddenly grinned and leaned closer to him, her boobs pressing into his arms in her most often used offensive maneuver.

“Why don’t we decorate the tree my way and then you can tell me all about that christmas order of whatever: You can even write it down and we can give them ranks, like High Constable Christmas Tree.”

He mulled that over for a few seconds, though they both knew that was more for show than anything.

“It’s a deal.” They sealed it in their usual way, which was a handshake and a kiss with only the slightest hint of tongue.

“Get a room!” At this point, Bobby’s complaint was almost part of their routine as well.

Patsy hooked her arm through his and together they scrutinized the tree.

“By the way, didn’t know you knew about High Constables.”

“I do listen when you tell me about your stories.” Patsy glanced at him and then chuckled. “Brigadier General.”

He never could have predicted that Patsy using military terms would be the thing that almost made him tear up in front of a christmas tree. Not that he was. He was just… experiencing a sudden onslaught of moisture in his eyes as a way to release some of his overflowing… _some kind of_ emotion for the woman standing next to him. ‘Twas the season after all.

He coughed, trying to discreetly dislodge his heart from his throat.

“Why don’t we put these two rainbow-coloured felt sheep right next to each other then?”


	8. Everyone vs. Christmas Spirits

“Eggnogg for everyone!”

Isabela produced two thermos flasks from somewhere underneath the register, the little poofy ball thing on her Santa hat bouncing as much as her boobs. It took some effort for Patsy to tear her eyes away from all those balls, but somehow she managed to focus on Bela pouring them both a generous cup.

“Is it your ‘secret’ recipe again? You know, the one where you just add a lot of rum?”

Bela simply winked and pressed the drink in her hand.

“Drink up, sweetie, you need to be buzzed a little to have us win the Caroling Contest.”

“It’s not a contest, Isabela, it’s a seasonal gathering to raise money.” Aveline entered L3v3l Up, her frown decidedly non-festive, Donnic trailing behind her, wearing a Santa hat as well.

“Aw, Big Girl, why aren’t you wearing your hat? Look, even Patsy turned into Santa baby!”

That was true, but _not_ because she liked it. However between Bela and Bobby there was no way her head would stay uncovered throughout this… thing. So she just preempted the inevitable. Aveline glared at the crumpled hat in her hand and then sighed.

“They _did_ tell us to wear these…. “ With another sigh that sounded as though she’d just heard that all shoes had been destroyed and were now replaced by Heelys, Aveline put on the Santa hat. Isabela cheered and handed Ave and Donnic plastic cups full of rumnogg as well.

“You two look deliciously adorable and that instantly qualifies you to be part of our team.”

Donnic sniffed at his drink and then backed away, eyebrows raising as if to flee from the alcohol smell.

“How can there be _teams_? We’re all singing together, how would you know who “won”?”

Isabela just cackled and put her arm around Aveline’s shoulders. “Oh don’t worry, we’ll know. _I’ll know._ ”

That didn’t reassure anyone.

When they reached the foot court it was already quite filled with people working at the mall, as well as people who apparently wanted to watch them sing. _Why would they._ Isabela had only allowed them to leave once she’d deemed them all “battle ready”. Apparently she was able to measure their alcohol level based on the redness of their cheeks or something.

Merrill’s excited shouting and jumping led them to a group of people dressed in Santa hats and quite varying degrees of enthusiasm. Bobby almost matched Merrill’s “stock photo of woman eating salad and laughing” kind of excitement, happy snowmen decorating her tights. Cullen stood behind her, probably feeling as uncomfortable as he looked. Grey suit as always and the Santa hat so out of place on him that maybe someone just mistook him for a hat stand. _That was mean Patsy, better bring him a few comics during tomorrow’s lunch break._

“There you are.” Fenris’ arm snaked around her hips and pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her cheek. And his boozy breath brushed against her nose.

“Whew, I see you’ve already _indulged_ quite a bit.”

He smirked at her, looking stupidly adorable with his Santa hat and his flushed cheeks and would anyone really miss them if they disappeared into an empty shop for a while?  
  
“Merrill brought spiked hot chocolate and rambled something about a Drunk Caroling Contest. I liked the drunk part.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky Uncle Jethann is here with even more booze?” Jeth pushed his head between their faces as he put his arms around them, a bottle of rum in each hand. Zevran appeared as well, and oh, so _that’s_ what people meant when they said “sexy Santa”. His black shirt was open just enough, he somehow didn’t look ridiculous in his shimmery red pants and the hat simply was the cheeky cherry on top.

“I’m never going to call you ‘Uncle Jethann’.” Fenris shuddered while eyeing the bottle closest to him with a certain yearning in his eyes.

“ _You_ can call me daddy!” Jethann cackled as Fenris groaned and then hopped over to press wet kisses on Bobby’s and Cullen’s cheeks. Cullen seemed somewhat more relaxed now, quite possibly related to the fact that his tie was just disappearing into Zevran’s pocked.

Patsy looked around their little group and felt warm from her toes to her fuzzy Santa hat as she took in everyone’s faces, flushed from the spirit of spiked drinks and friendship. She raised her plastic cup that someone (Bela) made sure was always full and waited until everyone else was equipped with their spiked beverage of choice.

“To the Kirkmall!”


	9. Patsy vs. The Holiday Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by [ this lovely drawing by Dakoyone](http://dakoyone.tumblr.com/post/135643005140/hawke-please-she-thinks-shes-being-sneaky-but)

Clearly this was an excellent plan!  What could possibly go wrong?

Well, beyond the fact that apparently mistletoe was some kind of poisonous and she should probably remember to wash her hands before she shoved any more pizza into her face, but really it was a risk she was willing to take.  After all, the priiiiiize…

Stop it, Patsy.  Focus on the mission.

Fenris was reading, curled up cross-legged on the floor in the corner near Book Mountain, the ponderous stack of Terribly Boring-Looking And Yet Probably Very Smart books threatening to come down on top of him for want of a proper bookshelf.  Nonchalantly she sidled over, hands discretely behind her back as though she was up to zero trouble whatsoever.

He didn’t even look up. Typical.

She let out a little huff of a sigh as she sat down, casually pulling her hair over one shoulder and readjusting her top for maximum cleavage.  You know, just in case, and what not.

For some reason reading about old dead white guys stabbing each other with various sharp implements seemed to be much more interesting than the fact that she was wearing a black bra with a white t-shirt and you could totally tell, or the fact that she had some kind of magic romance-instigating parasitic vine in one hand.  Rather than add any positive situational modifiers to her seduction roll, it just sat there sort of limply, which was useful to no one.

She was just going to have to take matters into her own hands.

Or rather, boobs.

She leaned against his arm. “Hey babe.”

“Hmm?”

More leaning. Practically into his lap.  “Hi.”

Fenris lifted one dark brow, his sexy green eyes flicking to one side to look at her face.  “Patsy.”

Her smile was only too innocent, casually leaning up to stretch (and put her boobs basically under his chin), lifting up her arms to hold the mistletoe above their heads.

It made him laugh, evoking one of those rusty chuckles deep from within his chest.

Really next to that, the kiss was just a bonus.


	10. Bobby vs. Marshmallow Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot Chocolate is srs bsns

Roberta Hawke had finally created the perfect Hot Chocolate. Many hours of research and trial and errors had gone into this. It was a labour of love. It was NOT because this was her first winter season with Cullen and she needed everything to be impeccable. That was crazy. She just was really invested in hot chocolate.

The beverage in front of her had a flawless ratio of milk, melted real chocolate (no powder of course, she was a _professional_ after all), whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles. And a secret, tiny dash of cinnamon, almost undetectable. She was ready to blow all of their minds.

Carefully she balanced the tray bearing four mugs of liquid love, which was difficult because in her frenzy to get everything just right she had completely forgotten to eat anything today. Her hands were shaky and she was feeling just the tiniest bit like she might faint. _Get it together, Bobby! You can feed on their awe once they taste this!_

She tried in vain to keep the proud grin off her face as she put the train down in front of the three lucky recipients of perfection. Patsy awaited the mug with grabby hands, ready to pour delicious sweetness into her mouth, as always. Fenris stared at it as if it might be poison, nothing unusual there either. Cullen… wait, why did he not look excited? What was wrong? She’d talked this moment up for weeks!

“Cullen, here you go! One explosion of tasty goodness for you!”

“Thank you, Bobby… this looks great.”

Why was he hesitating? What was happening? Why was this long awaited moment not exactly as she’d imagined it?

“Is something wrong? Do you want more sprinkles?”

She definitely wasn’t nervously hovering before him, nope.

“No, not at all! It’s just… are those marshmallows? Would it be… ok… if I took them off?” She might have narrowed her eyes viciously, because Cullen looked shocked and tried to explain himself really quickly. “They make me nauseous and I want to be able to really enjoy this mug of what is sure to be the _most exquisite_ hot chocolate ever tasted!”

Bobby was frozen in shock. He didn’t like marshmallows. Not even these adorable tiny pastel-coloured ones. That matched her mugs. She had to watch in horror as Patsy took her spoon and unceremoniously shovelled the marshmallows from Cullen’s onto her own hot chocolate. The ratio was _off_ now. It was ruined. RUINED!

Something in her mind snapped.

“Why do you hate love?”

Three pairs of wide eyes stared at her as if she’d just turned into an eldritch abomination.

“ _Why_ do you not want my love?”

She was not yelling.

“I… I do want it?”

Poor Cullen had no idea what was happening, not quite as familiar with Bobby’s meltdowns yet. Unlike Patsy, who just rolled her eyes and put a marshmallow in her mouth.

“It was PERFECT! After… hours! And… did you NOT think to inform me that you DON’T like marshmallows? I mean, I’ve talked a lot about the hot chocolate! Mentioned it _every day_ , in fact! And you never ONCE thought to tell me??? Why? Cullen, _why?_ ”

She stopped to take a few deep breaths and Cullen took the opportunity to rise from the couch and move over to her.

“Uhm, I’m sorry. I just, didn’t think to do that. I’ll just… I can put them back if you want to?”

“No you can’t, already ate them!”

Frickin Patsy.

“It’s fine.”

Bobby breathed in a few more times. Maybe she _slightly_ overreacted.

“Go and drink it while it’s still hot. Maybe it will still taste _adequate._ ”

Cullen patted her shoulder and then obediently sat down again, rushing to take a sip of the hot chocolate.

“It tastes wonderful!”

He did sound sincere, if slightly panicked.

“Yes, I love it, sis! Now calm your tits”, Patsy hollered.

Even Fenris murmured his agreement.

“I’M GLAD!”

Bobby sat down forcefully, grabbed her own mug with both hands and then continued to devour the hot chocolate in one go. Because it was PERFECTION. When she was finished, sugar rushing to her head, she let out a satisfied sigh and grinned at the others.

“I feel better now! Who wants cookies?”


	11. Fenris vs. Awkward Santa

_“I’m a grown adult. I don’t want to take a picture with Santa Claus.”_

“You should make an exception this year, believe me.”

Patsy grinned at him and Fenris huffed in defeat. It was not that he _always_ gave in to Patsy’s ideas, it was simply more efficient to do what she wanted and usually the payoff was indeed worth it.

“I suppose I can at least accompany you while you go meet Santa.”

“Excellent, and then we can go to my place and I’ll show you what a _naughty girl_ I am.”

Payoff. Worth it.

“That would be…” Fenris coughed. “Festive.”

* * *

“Oh.”

“I know.”

“Patsy, this is…”

“Literally all you’ve ever wanted in life?”

Fenris just nodded and put his arm around her waist to squeeze her against him in gratitude, too stunned to say anything. In his wildest dreams he would have never… He couldn’t have… That he was allowed to witness a scene like this!

“Ho Ho Ho! Happy Holidays!” Santa waved at no one in particular, shoppers seeming too busy to stop for this sad display of holiday spirit. “'Tis the season for some extra cheer on your bank account!”

Despite being clad in a red fur-lined suit and wearing a fake beard, Cullen still managed emanate so much awkwardness and out-of-placeness that he almost melted into the background. And what he could see of his face looked _miserable.  
_

_Merry fucking Christmas to me!_

Patsy skipped ahead and her cheerful greeting managed to penetrate Cullen’s aura of despair. He lifted his head and smiled with relief. Until…

“Patsy! Hey! I’m so glad to see you!”

Fenris stepped closer and _smirked._

“I… Oh.” Relief turned to abject horror. “Maker, why.”

“Ho ho ho to you, too!” He tried to restrain himself, to be nonchalant. But his inner asshole won out. “I’d like to take a pic with Santa.”


	12. Cullen vs. Bobby's Waning Sanity

“I feel like there’s more frosting on you than on the gingerbread.”

His concern went unanswered and possible unnoticed. Cullen had been startled and slightly concerned when he realised that when Bobby cooked and/or baked she was simultaneously euphoric as well as uncomfortably close to a nervous breakdown.

Currently, Bobby was painstakingly trying to assemble a gingerbread replica of Bag End. He’d already been roped into hours of drawing up plans and calculating sizes and making templates. Granted, he wasn’t complaining! Especially the calculations and the according research had been a tremendous amount of fun. He’d even made Bobby produce a sample of gingerbread and frosting so he could better assess the stability of the dough and glue-strength of the frosting.

However, now that the actual building process had started, he felt completely useless. Despite him being overqualified for the job as gingerbread assistant - LEGOs, puzzles, building over-complicated cardboard castles for his nieces, assembling a life-size R2D2 out of popsickle sticks in 7th grade… you name it, Cullen had it on his nerdy resume - Bobby kept refusing his help. Only because he’d left a fingerprint in the frosting and tried to smooth it out and apparently “almost ruined everything”.

Gingerly he wiped a glob of frosting from Bobby’s cheek with his thumb and then enjoyed the delicious taste of the sugary glue. _That_ she noticed and beamed up at him, face flushed with excitement and effort, looking as sweet as the frosting he could still taste on his tongue.

“Are you sure I can’t do anything to help? I swear, I won’t touch the gingerbread or the frosting anymore!”

She crinkled her nose and let her eyes roam around the kitchen. Her head stopped when she was looking at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“Your wish is my command!”

* * *

“O.M.G. sis, this looks incredible. You’ve outdone yourself!” Patsy croutched in front of _Gingerbag End_ to get a better look at all the details. (There were even tiny marzipan Sam and Frodo.) “Who should I eat first?”

Cullen almost yelled as Patsy callously reached for the helpless hobbits and threatened to destroy Bobby’s overjoyed pride at the overwhelmed surprise this intricate gift had elicited. Before he could stop Patsy though, someone else did. Fenris grab the greedy hand and pulled her entire body away from Gingerbag.

“No.”

“Awww, but it looks so tasty!”

He’d seen this many times before. Patsy pouted and did something with her chest and Fenris would ultimately give in. Not this time… Fenris gently took the table Bobby had placed her creation on and carried it with utmost caution into an empty corner of the Brewmother.

Patsy’s pout intensified but she didn’t seem overly hurt at being denied a treat. It probably helped that Fenris pulled her behind the counter and let her list a horrifying amount of things he’d put in her chocolate mocha. ( _5 pumps_ of chocolate syrup??? Maker!)

“I think he likes it.”

Bobby smiled at Fenris and her ridiculous sister and Cullen put his hand on the small of her back.

“I’ve never seen Fenris deny Patsy food. You’ve managed the impossible.”

Bobby chuckled and put her head against his shoulder that she barely managed to reach.

“Thank you for your help, those templates were incredible.”

“Oh, you’re more than welcome! Actually, I do have a couple of ideas how to improve the structure, maybe next year we cou-”

Bobby interrupted him by rising up on her tiptoes and placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“Cullen.”

“ _Hrm…_ hm… yes?”

“You’re a gigantic, adorable nerd.”

“Oh. Well. I…”

“I _love_ it.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s good then.”

He was sure his face was bright red by now but it didn’t matter, because Bobby pulled him down by the collar of his shirt and kissed him again.


	13. Fenris vs. The Various Failures of a Democratic System

It was Christmas time in the Kirkmall.  

Again.  Already.  And so soon after the last one too, which had only been a pitiful nine months prior, because everyone in retail knew that Christmas started in October, gestating in the belly of the year like a tinsel-strewn abomination ready to burst forth and inundate him with happiness and santa hats.

Fenris had had it up to _here_ with the repetitive music, the forced cheer, the sound of holiday jingles hawking cheap goods to the consumerist masses, and the way that the run on pumpkin spice lattes sprouted into peppermint mocha season like an abandoned ficus that had mutated into a succulent out of a petty unwillingness to die of thirst.

It was all just extremely rude and he didn’t care for it _at all_.

“Insipid capitalist holiday,” he grumbled to himself, stalking with annoyance past the already-forming line at the mini North Pole that had summoned itself out of the floorboards near the food court, replete with screaming children being forced to sit on the lap of a bearded man in a fuzzy polyester suit by elves in striped stockings and running eyeliner. It sounded like the plot of a nightmare, and no amount of wheedling from Bobby (who was, he would grudgingly admit, the cutest elf, but also the only adult woman he knew who kept curly-toed elf shoes in her closet year-round and therefore quite insane) would make him change his mind.

“So there,” he said to the door of The Brewmother as it swung open in his hand, the scent of coffee washing over him in a heavenly caffeinated wave.  At least the coffee shop was his oasis, a pleasant home-away-from-home, and a beacon of hope amidst the migraine-inducing glare of cheap fluorescent lighting off glittery cardboard snowflakes. There was his espresso machine, his chairs, his tables, his red holiday cups (a bitter concession), and…

Merrill.

The tiny woman was sitting on the floor next to a large cardboard box, one leg firmly wrapped up in what apparently was a spangled net of holiday horror, strung between the arm of one of the chairs and an unsuspecting table. She was in the process of removing a shoe in the most nonsensical way possible in an attempt to get free, an endeavor that he pictured devolving into a full-body cocooning in fairly short order.

“Good morning Fenris!” she chirped, unreasonably chipper as always, completely oblivious to the fact that a boa constrictor made of shiny gold tinsel seemed intent on eating her face.

Fenris crossed his arms. “No holiday decorations. I thought we agreed.”

Merrill tipped over onto her back, reaching up to ineffectually fuss with the garland that had somehow tied itself into a series of knots around her ankle, and managing to tangle part of her upper half up in the pile. “You say that every year Fenris.”

“Because every year the holidays are still terrible.”

“Oh poo.  You can be such a Scrooge!”

That miserly garbage character out of an overly sentimental cautionary tale?   _Rude._  “Am not.”

“Are too.  Besides, we took a vote.”

“We who?”

“Me and Alistair!” Merrill blinked up at him innocently.  “It was very democratic.”

Fenris clenched his fist. _Alistair_ , the bane of his existence.  He should have known the giant doofy blond would foil his decoration-free plans! So what if he was the boss.

“No taxation without representation.”

“You have representation _and_ you’re not being taxed.”

“Not true. All of this Christmas garbage is taxing to my patience.”

Merrill, precious and infuriating, laughed her twinkly little silver bell laugh and seemed not bothered by his grousing in the slightest.  “I won’t put up too many things – and you could help! It’d be like a compromise.”

A compromise of his soul! “Never.”

“Come on, just a few?”

“No.”

“A couple of ornaments?”

Fenris glared.

“One string of lights, tops. One or two.  Maybe two.”

_“Ugh.”_

“Pleeeaaasseeeee…?”

Despite himself, Fenris found himself drawn, like a mystified moth - _who definitely should know better at this point_ \- to a flame, into her adorable pouting expression and wide green eyes, sparkling with the innocent joy of youth and the bliss of someone probably too oblivious to life’s petty horrors to be bothered by much at all by their continual existence. And/or an evil manipulative genius and his own personal Moriarty.

Damn it, how did this always happen?!

“…maybe just a few. If you’re really set on it. If we have to.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Merrill beamed, rays of light and candy colored hearts shooting out of her eyes and mouth and piercing through the ragged cloak of his annoyance, letting in a definitively gingerbread-scented draft. “You love everybody.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and dropped to one knee next to her, deftly wrangling the tinsel into a neat coil and retrieving her fallen shoe. “Well Merry Fucking Christmas. You keep that to yourself.”


	14. Bobby vs. The Cookie Thief

Bobby looked down at what remained of her vanilla cookies with tears in her eyes. She’d used the _pink_ sprinkles that her mum had only bought after Bobby promised that she’d never skip ballet practice again.

“Shu kno Shana ishn real, ya?”

Patsy didn’t care at all about her struggles, as usual. Her twin was THE WORST.

“I know he’s not real, doofus.” She pushed Patsy so her twin lost her balance and fell over from where she’d been sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace. “It’s about the christmas spirit. About the _feeling._ ”

Patsy just rolled her eyes and sprawled out on the floor, not bothering to get up again. All over her hoodie were cookie crumbs, a painful reminder of what once had been.

“So what’s the feeling you get from doing this? It’s just a waste of your yummy baking.”

Bobby put her fists against her hips and frowned down at cookie monster.

“Just… the waiting… excitement. Isn’t it nice to wake up and the cookies are gone and you can pretend that there really is a jolly fat man out there bringing joy to everyone? And that I gave some joy back with my cookies?”

Patsy sighed and put one of her hands over her eyes.

“Mum just throws them out.”

“What.”

Patsy was lying so Bobby wasn’t mad at her anymore. That must be it. Their mother wouldn’t do that, she…

“I saw them in the bin last year. We should have known, she’d never eat something that could make her fat.”

Bobby’s legs collapsed under her like a stack of presents Patsy had pulled the largest one out of. Stupid Bobby. Keeping up with childish games. Trading hated ballet for _nothing._ She rubbed her eyes with her fists, tears of anger and embarrasment mingling with those from earlier.

Suddenly, Patsy’s warm arms wrapped around her and her twin’s nose pressed against her cheek.

“Do you want to make another batch?”

“No.” Dammit, she had to pull up her nose. Way to cry and snivel all over the place.

“We can sleep in a blanket fort and eat cookies all night. I’ll even let you paint my nails in christmassy colours.”

Patsy pulled away Bobby’s hands so she could wipe her tear-stained face with the sleeve of her hoodie.

“Are you gonna wear the sweater with the snowman I got you last year?”

“Will it be helpful to get into the spirit of christmas?”

“Bobby started grinning and slowly got back on her feet, pulling Patsy up with her.

“Cozy sweaters are _mandatory,_ Patsy.”

“Fine. But no reindeer headbands!”

“Fine!”

Sometimes… her twin was the very, very best in the world.


End file.
